


Not Always Romantic - This Guy Will Keep You On Your Toes

by steelphoenix



Series: Not Always Romantic [3]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Fluff, M/M, bad dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-25
Updated: 2012-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-31 17:44:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelphoenix/pseuds/steelphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marines are not the most romantic of people... but sometimes, in their own way, they show that they care.</p>
<p>Jason can't dance. Gabe doesn't care. Nobody else notices...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Always Romantic - This Guy Will Keep You On Your Toes

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a bunch of posts on the website [Not Always Romantic](http://notalwaysromantic.com). Little snippets that are completely unrelated to each other, only passingly related to source material, and largely for the lulz/cutes. Some unintentionally rather violet prose, I suspect. Snippets are named after the original post.
> 
> In this chapter: Jason can't dance. Gabe doesn't care. Nobody else notices...

[ **This Guy Will Keep You On Your Toes** ](%E2%80%9Dhttp://notalwaysromantic.com/this-guy-will-keep-you-on-your-toes/19490%E2%80%9D)

If there was one thing about Bravo, Jason muses absent-mindedly as takes another pull of his fourth – or maybe fifth? – beer, was that they invariably picked the best bars. Perhaps it was just luck. God only knew, and he sure as fuck isn’t complaining.

“Heeeey Lilleeeeey,” slurs Nathan as he slides the booth that Team 1-Bravo has unofficially claimed. Hector is already semi-comatose in one corner, staring fixatedly at the bar – or maybe the girl barista. Jason doesn’t give a fuck. Nathan tugs his sleeve. “You wannnna dance?”

“Fuck, no,” Jason snaps, “I can’t fuckin’ dance.”

“Oh. Okay,” says Nathan, apparently too drunk to give a shit. He turns to Hector. “Hec – Hect’r. Hec. Leon. Come dance wi’ me.” He tugs Leon’s sleeve, now, and drags him along the bench towards him. Hector mumbles something unintelligible and unprintable, but stumblingly follows Christopher towards the dance floor.

Jason sniggers into his beer as he watches Hector and Nathan make attempts at dancing. They’re fuckin’ horrible – electrocuted retarded chimps could do better. He takes another pull of beer, and abruptly realizes that there’s no more. And that the pitcher is empty. “Fuckballs,” he mumbles, and is about to lever himself up and off towards the bar when Gabe slides onto the bench next to him.

“We needed another pitcher, got one,” he says, briefly, and without even waiting for an invitation, fills up Jason’s mug. “Need good beer, after the horse piss that Chaff’s been extollin’ the virtues of all night.”

“Christ, yeah,” agrees Jason. “What the fuck was that, anyway?” He takes a pull on the new beer – Gabe’s good at pouring, this one has a nice head but not too much – and looks down in surprise. There’s no mistaking that thick, rich taste, the deep brown. Guinness? “Fuck, you suddenly go get taste, you crazy spic? This stuff’s expensive!”

“Yeah, but it’s worth every dollar,” grins Gabe. “An’ that’s why we are _not_ sharing it, either,” he adds, looking darkly over at the dance floor.

“Mmm,” Jason agrees, taking another, smaller sip. This beer deserved to be savoured. “Fuck, this is good.” He looks up to see Gabe grinning at him, “What?”

“You gotta moos-tache,” Gabe grins, pronouncing it the same way Sixta did when he was pissed at them for breaking the grooming standard.

Hastily, Jason licks his lips, and is startled to see Gabe’s eyes darken for a second. “Got it?” he asks, trying not to think about what that means. What it could mean. What he wants it to mean.

Gabe hesitates a couple of seconds before replying, “Yeah,” quiet and almost gentle.

Jason has no idea what to say to that, suddenly terrified that he’s going to say the wrong thing – whatever the wrong thing is – and make this go away. He’s blushing, heating up, uncertain if it’s the drink or something else.

He’s unexpectedly saved by Hector and Nathan’s return, swaying, arms around each other and dragging a trail of Marines. They’re singing along with whatever godawful pop monstrosity is currently playing, which involves some words and loud ‘LA LA LAAAAAA’ at the bits they don’t know – which is about ninety percent.

“Christ, guys, learn the fuckin’ words or fuckin’ shut your hick-ass cakeholes,” snaps Jason, irrationally annoyed at them for interrupting whatever’s going on here. Even if he had no idea what to say next.

“You should comma dance, Gabe,” says Hector, grabbing Gabe’s sleeve. “Com’on.” He’s grinning, and looks much happier than when he was near-comatose on the bench.

Gabe shakes his head, slipping out of Hector’s uncertain grip. “Nah, I’ve got a pitcher to drain,” he grins, “And before you ask, none for you.” His smile takes the sting out of his words, if Hector had been sober enough to notice.

“Jase? You come dance,” Gabe’s refusal had just redirected Hector’s attention.

“Can’t dance,” Jase shakes his head, throwing a grin at Gabe. Their teammates are persistent, if nothing else. Gabe’s returned smile has his cheeks tinged red.

“Prove it! Come on, prove it!” says Nathan, his expression a drunken parody of suspicion. “I think you an’ Gabe jus’ wanna be gayasses an’ cuddle in th’ corner.”

Jason laughs – it’s stupid and funny and he can’t help it, because that’s the most retarded suggestion ever, even if it’s not far off his silent wishes – and puts his hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine!” He stands, moving past Gabe. 

He has a moment to realize that this is a bad idea – but he’s already committed. It’s strange and crazy as he shuffles awkwardly past Gabe, those brushing points of contact are suddenly hot and wanting, and he _can’t_ have a crisis, not here and certainly not now. Self-awareness is a bitch.

“Dance, monkey, dance!” Nathan is crowing, clapping totally out of time with the beat, and Jason throws himself into moving to banish the thoughts in his head.

He doesn’t know how long it is before he straightens and stops, but Nathan and Hector – and half of Bravo – are watching. And Gabe is _laughing_ , the son-of-a-bitch. Jason kind of just wants to curl into a ball and make it go away, embarrassed and rapidly heading for humiliated.

“Fuck, man, you weren’t kiddin’,” says Hector, evidently stunned by the complete idiocy of what he’s just seen. He claps a hand on Jason’s shoulder, expression as solemn as his lack of sobriety permits. “I hereby exclude you from all dancing, forever,” he says, and hiccups. Abruptly, he looks very green, and stumbles in the direction of the toilets.

“Leon’s gonna _BARF!_ ” someone is yelling – probably Manimal – and the audience of Marines disappears in five seconds flat.

Gabe’s grinning up at him from the bench. “That’s gotta be one of the least sexy things you’ve ever done,” he says, eyes dark and laughing. That dispels the humiliation like _that_ , and Jason can’t help but wonder if Gabe’s been noticing the sexy things he’s done.

“Really?” He grins, sitting down beside Gabe. “What’re the top five least sexy things I’ve done?”

Gabe laughs again, “I think that was all five of them!” He’s looking Jason right in the eye, gaze unwavering. There’s fear there. Fear, hope, uncertainty.

Everything Jason’s been feeling.

“Do you have a top five _most_ sexy things?” he asks quietly, hoping. Most of all, he just wants to know for certain.

Gabe nods, “Yeah, I do.” And there’s a wash of happiness brightening his eyes to warm chocolate, and Jason just wants to watch, loving that smile.

“Good,” says Jason quietly, smiling wide, and when Gabe’s hand sneaks over to catch his under the table, he twines their fingers together.


End file.
